


Big Iron

by szhismine



Series: McHanzo Trash [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szhismine/pseuds/szhismine
Summary: What if Jesse wasn't the only Deadlock member who enjoyed playing cowboy? What if that Deadlock member was alive, and wanted to get revenge, the only way they knew how? Inspired by the song Big Iron by Marty Robbins (from Fallout: New Vegas). Featuring backstory, McHanzo, and angsty goodness.





	1. Prologue: Alive or Maybe Dead

If anyone were to stumble upon the scene playing out on the desolate desert road at the bottom of Deadlock Gorge, they might think they were in the middle of a movie.

It's almost too appropriate that this is playing out on Route 66; personally, Jesse wishes they were at the “Western” lot in Hollywood. He'd been like a kid in a candy store when he and the gang had their first mission there. He and Genji drove Hanzo crazy with all the selfies they took in front of the saloon, and when they got back to Gibraltar they had a Clint Eastwood marathon. Hanzo had fallen asleep before the intro of “For a Few Dollars More” even finished.

Jesse makes a mental note to tell Hanzo that he finds his snoring to be completely adorable. If he lives through the next few minutes, that is. If his former coworker doesn't get the drop on him a second time. How she tracked him down was anybody's guess at this point, but it hardly matters to him right now. The only way to keep his life is to keep his attention on the here and now.

Every movement is precise, calculated. Inhaling deep, letting the smoky flavour of tobacco fill his mouth, Jesse slowly raises his arm, to grip his cigarillo between two fingers. On the exhale he pulls it from between his lips, blowing smoke in the direction of his opponent in a silent challenge. He smirks as the woman twitches- she always did hate the smell of his favourite brand, even from several feet away- and lets the cigarillo fall to the dirt. A spur jingles as he crushes the smouldering end underneath his heel.

As the seconds tick by, the world falls away. Jesse can feel every individual bead of sweat that falls down his neck, hear every grain of sand that gets stirred by the hot wind. The communicator in his pocket feels heavier than it is; he knows his team is frantically trying to reach him. He knows Hanzo is scouring the desert to get to him. Jesse also knows he won't make it in time to stop this.

_Appearance is everything,_ they used to tell each other back in the day. _We're from the good ol' South, we've got a reputation ta uphold._ She'd certainly held that mantra close to her heart even after all these years, and in a way so did he. That's why he bows his head, lifting his eyes to glare at her from under the brim of his hat. Their stances match; hands hovering above the holsters at their hips. Peacekeeper is ready, calling to him to show her what they could still do. Neither man nor weapon has lost their edge, as deadly now as they were twenty years ago. Even from a distance Jesse can see the determination in her eyes, and he knows her well enough to know that when she spoke that word, one of them would be dead. This fight's outcome wouldn't come down to numbers, or strength, or luck, but _speed_.

Her mouth opens. His body tenses.

“Draw.”

 


	2. Texas Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, an update! Let's explore some character background :)

“Jesse James McCree, meet Annabeth Rachel Simone.”

Within the cool, dimly lit maze of caves that ran throughout Deadlock Gorge, two gangly teenagers stood in front of each other, each pulling a face at the others' ridiculous name. Right then and there it became clear that they'd have to stick together, and Jesse had to hide his relief at no longer being the only kid in a den of criminality. Finally, someone he might be able to trust to watch his back.

Jesse was put in charge of giving her a tour of the hideout, and as they wound their way deeper and deeper into the rocky shelter, they talked. First they compared stories from their shit childhoods, the circumstances and talents that brought them to Deadlock's attention. Her favourite accessory, which she proudly showed off, was the lasso resting at her hip. Jesse reciprocated by drawing his prized six-shooter from its holster, though he didn't let her touch it.

As they walked by their leader, whom Jesse creatively called “Mr. Deadlock,” he stopped the two kids to lecture them about keeping their hormones from “fucking up the job”. They both stammered as they tried to assure him they wouldn't, but he waved them away, uninterested in their blabbering.

The tour continued to the new recruit's room. As Annabeth- “please, fer the love o' God, call me Beth-” unpacked, they discovered a mutual love of spaghetti westerns and southern cooking. They decided to skip dinner- “s'garbage most nights anyways, ain't no one here who knows how ta cook,” and have a drinking contest instead. Jesse left, and returned half an hour later with two bottles of rum he'd stolen from the boss' personal stash.

The contest ended horribly for both of them, and after that... they became inseparable.

 

*

 

Two years later, the now seventeen year-olds were playing cards together in the tiny alcove that was Jesse's room. A thick haze of cigarette smoke filled the room, unfortunately a way of life at this point. “Call,” the young man muttered, cigarette clenched between his teeth as he glanced from his cards to his dwindling pile of poker chips.

Both were older, yet neither are wiser, as Deadlock had a distinct lack of proper mentors. Instead of a lasso, Beth now used a whip, and rejected practical body armour for short shorts and a crop top when on the job, committed to promoting style over substance. Jesse was just as careless, wearing any and all cowboy getup he could scrounge, regardless of whether or not it fit. Most of what he'd collected was still too big for his scrawny frame, which had yet to fill out. Just the day before he'd almost fallen and broken his neck when the hems of his jeans caught in his spurs and tripped him up.

He still hung on to his relic of a revolver, and was currently obsessed with trying to come up with a name for it, bouncing ideas off Beth. When he suggested Faraday, she laughed, and tossed a handful of chips into the middle pile. “Raise. Too obvious, gunslinger!”

“How's it obvious? The movie's hella old.” Jesse grumbled as he threw his cards face-down on the makeshift table. “I fold.” He spat his cigarette butt into the ash tray by his elbow.

“Ha!” Collecting her winnings, Beth gave him a wicked smirk. “Besides, ya don't wanna name yer gun after a _person_. S'gotta have a cool soundin' name with some meanin' behind it. Like... Deathbringer or sumthin'.” Their gazes locked, and she bat her eyelashes at him, but it went completely unnoticed. “One more round, sugah?”

Jesse shook his head. “Nah, I'll go broke if I keep playin' 'gainst ya.” He hummed in thought as he considered her advice. “Not a bad idea. Maybe not Deathbringer though. Sounds too...” he makes a face. “Grim.”

Setting her smouldering cigarette into the ash tray, Beth stood up. “Ya make a livin' shootin' people, Jess,” she pointed out, her tone a bit colder than it needed to be. But any trace of hostility vanished when she sat moved around the table and sat beside him on his bed. She crossed one leg over the other, angling herself _just_ right to let Jesse see the bare skin of her thigh.

Again, he took no note of Beth's (rather blatant) attempt at flirting. Instead her comment turned his expression into one of regret. “Yeah, I know...”

Mildly frustrated he wasn't getting the hint, Beth simply giggled at his response, and that made Jesse look up. “See, that's what I like 'bout ya, Jesse.” She touched his arm, letting her hand linger. “Yer hard when ya gotta be, but... yer soft too.” She scooted closer, and Jesse tensed at the unexpected invasion of his personal space. “Though... I know I wouldn't object ta seein' more o' yer _hard_ side...” her hand slid down to his upper thigh and gave it a firm squeeze.

Jesse damn near jumped at the contact, eyes widening, and he couldn't swallow the sudden lump in his throat. “O-oh?” There was a break in his voice. “Oh.” He froze like a deer caught in the headlights when Beth straddled him, her full, pouty lips finding his. Her kisses were aggressive and needy, and he responded sluggishly as his brain still tried to understand just what was happening.

He thought he might faint from lack of oxygen when she finally pulled back, taking his stunned gaze and lack of reciprocity as encouragement. “What's the matter, sugah? Am I too much woman fer ya?” Beth teased as she tugged impatiently at his shirt.

“Y-yeah,” Jesse squeaked, cheeks flushed from embarrassment instead of arousal. His discomfort was enough to finally get him to move again, gripping her arms and stopping her from undressing him.

Slowly, her smile faded into a confused frown. “Huh?” She leaned back, rocking her hips as she rested on his lap.

His blush deepened. “I, uh, I don't think... I'm interested in girls.” It was one of the few things about himself he kept private, refusing to say it out loud until now. With the type of people he was constantly surrounded by, he didn't want that kind of information to spread- and spread it would. Beth especially was a blabbermouth, and though he trusted her in a fight, he could never bring himself to trust her with _this_. He certainly hadn't expected her to force his hand in revealing it.

“Oh...” Several emotions passed over her face, none of them positive, and Jesse's heart sunk into his stomach. “Oh.” Beth awkwardly climbed off him, looking down at him with a stern expression. She hovered in front of him, clearly debating what to say, before finally huffing and crossing her arms. “Coulda told me sooner, saved me the trouble o' fallin' fer ya.”

The sharp stab of guilt that accompanied her words made Jesse cringe. “I didn't realize ya were, Beth, honest-”

“Whatever.” She sniffed in disdain and turned to gather her poker chips, clearly bitter, and looking everywhere except him. “I guess yer softer than I thought ya were. Maybe Deadlock ain't the place ye should be.”

A cold shiver ran down Jesse's spine at that, but before he could answer, she stormed out.

 

*

  
Two nights later, she visited him again. When she climbed into his bed he didn't send her away. Their encounter was brief, awkward, and unsatisfying for both of them, enough so to keep her from trying again in the future. She laughed it off, but when the door closed behind her Jesse curled up, half-dressed and cold, trying not to cry.

 

*

 

Six shots.

Six dead men littered the ground, forming a perfect half-circle around Beth, who lay prone and battered on the ground. When the silence became too disturbing she looked up, moving her arms from her face to stare up at her saviour. But Jesse's expression mirrored her own, and did nothing to allay her shock.

It wasn't just the accuracy, but the speed. Six shots, so close together anyone with an untrained ear would think it was just one. The victims, members of some rival gang that had been trying to encroach on Deadlock territory, fell to the ground like marionettes whose strings were suddenly cut. The head of Deadlock itself couldn't shoot like that. _No one_ could shoot like that.

“Y-ya saved me,” Beth gasped. “H-how did ya-”

“I dunno,” Jesse answered quickly, breathing hard. His voice shook, as badly as the rest of him. Nothing had ever scared him more in his entire life. When he looked down at her, the blood on his face was pronounced by his pallor, and Beth would swear until her dying day that even his eyes were red. “I dunno...”

 

*

 

Less than a month later, they were attacked again. Not by rivals, but by a much more dangerous enemy. Perhaps if they hadn't stolen a weapon shipment that had been marked by the United Nations for “special operations only”, they might not have painted such a large target on their backs. The theft itself had gone smoothly, but it was a short-lived victory. When the full might of Blackwatch descended on the canyon, few were lucky to make it out alive. Those still alive would quickly think the dead were the lucky ones.

Beth never considered herself a lucky girl.

 

*

 

Three months after the raid, Beth was going stir crazy behind bars. Only one other Deadlock member was sent to the same prison as her, a middle-aged woman by the name of Crazy Dee. Beth stuck close to her most days, and they managed to eek out their own share of the contraband market. Whatever they earned was immediately traded for what they needed most: information. One day it finally paid off.

“Finally heard from my contact. Ain't good.” Crazy Dee wasn't one to beat around the bush.

“Tell me.” Beth's voice wasn't louder than a whisper. The worst part for her had been not knowing.

“Most are dead, including the boss. Not all from the initial raid.” Dee gave Beth a stern look. “We're damn lucky they thought us too small-fry to know anything. Blackwatch... they know how to torture people.”

The younger woman shivered. Two years with the only people who were willing to take her in meant her loyalty was to them, and anger boiled within her. How dare some government assholes come along and destroy what they had. They were probably no better than them anyhow; just another gang, but with bigger guns and more money.

“There's more.”

Beth's gaze snapped to the woman. “Tell me.”

Dee sighed. “It's unconfirmed, but... rumour is they recruited McCree.”

The thought was so ludicrous Beth actually laughed. “No. No way in _hell._ ”

Dee simply shrugged, not really giving a damn one way or the other. “If he became Blackwatch, they probably threatened him with jail-time or worse. Must've wanted something he had, bad enough to keep him from supermax. Traded one type of prison for another, if you ask me.”

Beth didn't ask her. She staunchly refused to believe it, not once letting go of her denial, even as the years dragged on with no freedom in sight. She lived in a cocoon of nostalgia and cruelty, letting the system harden her into a dangerous woman with a vicious attitude. The other inmates gave her a nickname, a reference to her short temper and southern drawl. She'd snap at anyone who used it.

 

*

 

When Switzerland happened, what followed was a flurry of news reports on every channel, including the one the prison television picked up. Everyone, prisoner and guard alike, stood in shocked silence as names were displayed on the screen. Overwatch, Blackwatch, Reyes, _McCree_. The secrets belonging to the supposed heroes were now out, for the whole world to see. Even while the dust cloud hadn't yet settled over Overwatch's grave, the United Nations held an emergency session, followed quickly by a press conference. One of the last items on their docket was to place a substantial bounty on one Jesse James McCree, Blackwatch member gone rogue, and former member of the notorious Deadlock Gang.

The only way Beth could respond to such news was with violence. As the guards hauled her away from Crazy Dee, who'd had the bad luck of being in easy striking distance, her enraged screams slowly dissolved into hysterical laughter. By the time they slammed the door of her solitary cell, she was as calm as she'd ever been.

Deadlock had been betrayed. _She'd_ been betrayed. And as she accepted this fact, Annabeth Rachel Simone died.

Texas Red was born.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback's always appreciated!


	3. Ask His Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree finds out he has enemies among enemies.

“Winston, I've told you-”  
  
“I know, I _know,_ ” the large gorilla groaned, looking everywhere except at the woman who was currently scolding him. “I hear the same lecture from Athena at least once a week!”

“Then you should listen!” Angela waved her hand towards the rather large pile of empty peanut butter jars tucked away in the corner of the room. “You spend more time coordinating training exercises than actually participating in them. And peanut butter is not a food group.”

Winston was about to reply when agents started filing into the briefing room for the meeting. “We'll talk about this later, doctor.”

“But-”  
  
“Later!” He hissed in a whisper. Last thing he needed was to be chastised about his eating habits in front of the entire team. He took his usual place as they swarmed around the large round table. Angela, Jack, and Ana sat closest to him, a deliberate choice to appear as a united leadership. The others were less picky, though they tended to cluster in familiar groups. The Shimada brothers sat next to each other as always. Jesse strolled in last, barely on time, and took his seat next to Hanzo. Hana and Lucio both leaned in to study their faces, whispering amongst themselves about whether or not their separate arrivals were staged. Hanzo glared at them, but Jesse smirked and whistled innocently.

Clearing his throat, Winston nodded to the team before starting. “As you know, Talon activity has increased exponentially this last year. Moreso once they discovered we've, uh... officially unofficially resumed operations.” He paused to appreciate the few chuckles he got from that. “Now it seems like they've taken a chapter out of our book with recruitment.”

“You mean cannon fodder, or specialized agents?” Jack asked for the team's sake; he already knew the answer.

“Both, it seems. They've opened a number of small outposts in Europe and the Americas, most likely for reconnaissance or low-scale weapons smuggling. We still don't know where their main base of operations is, but targeting these points of interest would be a good start.” Winston sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose before continuing. “However, there are two operatives in particular who demand our immediate focus.” He held up two tablets- one displayed blocky Russian writing and the Volskaya logo in the corner; the other had several paragraphs of text, most of which was blacked out. “Athena, if you please?”

Two pictures popped up on the holo-display in the middle of the table. “Meet Talon's new- uh, talent. Now, uh, we're still waiting on intel...” He pointed to the woman on the left, whose glowing purple implants and knowing smirk commanded attention. “Not sure what the details are, but apparently she led an attack on Volskaya Industries, and from what I gather the president of the company herself requested our involvement.” Winston's finger moved to the other picture. “This one calls herself Texas Red. She's got a record, but it most of it is redacted. Athena is currently working on extracting the raw files; we _do_ know she broke out of the Federal Detention Center in Houston, Texas. Her skills are yet to be identified.” Winston huffed as he eyed her get-up. “I guess Talon wanted to match us in the cowboy department.”

Hanzo snorted and looked to Jesse, expecting him to make a quip about how his gun was bigger. Instead, the cowboy's features were frozen in disbelief and anger. Genji noticed as well. His head tilted sideways in a gesture Hanzo recognized as worried curiosity. After a moment Genji shifted slightly to look at Hanzo, who merely shrugged.

Winston continued on with his brief, but none of the three men were listening. Hanzo tried to break the tension first, leaning in to ask Jesse how he knew her, but as he opened his mouth Jesse pushed his chair back and stood, drawing the rest of the room's attention. “'Scuse me,” he mumbled. He bowed his head so his hat could obscure his face, but as he turned, Hanzo could see Jesse's mouth was twisted into an ugly scowl, a look of loathing that was so uncharacteristic of him. Whatever this woman was to him, it was nothing pleasant.

“Uh...” Winston blinked at Jesse's retreating back, confused at the interruption. Jack stared after him, then looked to Hanzo and gestured with his hand in a silent question. Genji hummed and poked his brother's arm. Hanzo tensed, uncomfortable with the quiet implications that Jesse was somehow his responsibility. However, having everyone's eyes on him was worse, so without a word he got up and went after the cowboy.

 

*

 

When Hanzo walked into Jesse's room, he could feel the rage radiating from the man, who was pacing back and forth, greedily sucking down the smoke from his cigarillo. Crossing his arms, the archer sized up the situation. There was no point in asking what the story was; what concerned him was the present, not the past.

“You intend to find her.” It wasn't a question.

“Justice ain't gonna dispense itself,” Jesse muttered through clenched teeth as he grabbed an empty duffel bag and threw it on the bed.

“I _meant_ -” Hanzo huffed and crossed his arms- “You wish to go find her yourself. Alone.”

“...S'that so wrong?” Jesse looked up, his eyes betraying his true emotions underneath that veneer of anger: shame and guilt. “She's from _my_ past, _my_ time in Deadlock. I always-” he stopped, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. After a moment he seemed to deflate, shoulders dropping as he sat heavily on the edge of his bed.

Crossing over the few feet of space between them, Hanzo sat next to him. “Yes?”

“I always wondered what happened ta her,” he admitted softly, drawing Peacekeeper and turning it over in his hands. “But I never actually... tried ta find out.” He winced, glancing away. “She was a real piece o' work even as a kid but... she was the only one who ever had my back. Even when she hated my guts, she had my back.”

“I do not understand,” Hanzo replied, brows furrowed in confusion. “What happened between you two?”

“Ehh-” Jesse waved his mechanical hand dismissively. “Don't worry 'bout it.”

“I will worry about it,” Hanzo snapped, leaning forward. His nose wrinkled at the heavy smell of stale tobacco on his lover's breath. “If you wish for closure, or revenge, I will not stop you. All I ask is that you do not seek it out rashly. Have you not lectured me many times on the importance of teamwork?” The corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing smile.

Jesse snorted, then laughed weakly. “Oh I see, now ya decide ta listen?” He patted Hanzo's shoulder. “Alright, alright. I hear ya. No runnin' off without yer or Winston's approval first. Satisfied?”

“Yes.” He knew Jesse to be a man of his word, and that was good enough for him. “Thank you.”

“Hmph.”

Hanzo considered the matter closed, so he stood to leave, intending to give Jesse space. He made it to the door when the cowboy's voice rang out. “Seriously?” Apparently not prying further was the wrong move. “That's it?”

“What's it?” Hanzo paused in the doorway, slowly turning to face the man.

Jesse shrugged, but his eyes shone with hurt. “I start openin' up 'bout my past, an' ya walk out? Ya don't even care?”

“I care,” Hanzo blurted out, more sharply than he intended. “I care a great deal.”

Jesse's mouth opened and closed, flabbergasted at the admission. “W-well I... I know ya do...”

“Do you?” Hanzo jerked back as if stung. “Then why are you so surprised to hear me say it?”

“'Cause you never say anythin' 'bout... _this._ ” Jesse gestured between them. 

The archer's eyes darkened, his posture straightening until he looked every inch the criminal heir he was meant to be. A low, dangerous anger reverberated in his voice. “Nor do you.”

Jaw clenching, the cowboy's irritation stirred again as he pointed a finger at Hanzo. “Hey now, we _both_ agreed on the rules of our _thing_ -”

“And neither of us are blind to how the situation has evolved!” Hanzo yelled, voice rising. “We have changed, our _thing_ changed. Are we going to talk about it, or will you bury me in the past like you did her?”  
  
“Don't... ya... DARE!” Jumping to his feet, Jesse stalked over until he was mere inches from Hanzo's face. The eldest Shimada son wasn't the only one who learned how to appear intimidating. “Don't ya _EVER_ compare ya an' me ta me an' her!”

Bristling, Hanzo stood his ground. “How can I, when I do not know a thing about you and her? I do not require you to share everything about your past. But you have no _right_ to snap at me for respecting your privacy! You run your mouth about every topic except yourself. I would never pry, not even to sate my curiosity, and you have always shown me that same respect. What point does it serve to get mad at me now?”

Jesse knew Hanzo was right, and that made him even angrier. “I gotta go talk ta Winston. He'll already have a lead on her whereabouts,” he deflected, brushing past Hanzo. “Whatever mission he's planning, I'll be on it. If ya wanna come, that's fine by me. If ya don't, that's fine too.”

Alone now in Jesse's quarters, Hanzo exhaled the breath he'd been holding. There was no question he'd go on that mission, to keep Jesse alive if nothing else. The cowboy clearly had a personal history with this woman, and it made him emotionally volatile and irrational. Hanzo didn't need the details. But he did need to watch Jesse's back.

“Orokana kaubōi. Dono yōna toraburu ga okite iru no?” He muttered to the empty room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: "Stupid cowboy. What kind of trouble are you in?” (I used Google translate, apologies if it's inaccurate!)

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter is a bit short, just wanted to get a sense of where this might lead, and if people are even interested in finding out where it leads ;)


End file.
